"What's that?"
I jumped out of my skin when I heard Ben's voice. "You need to stop doing that." I muttered, my heart still beating fast.
"Talk to you, you mean?" He teased, to which I rolled my eyes.
"Sneak up on me." I don't know why I'm so tense lately. Oh, wait, I do know. Remember that cop that came in after Scott pushed me? She came back, asking all sorts of questions, and as a result, Scott has been a breathing on my neck, wanting to make sure I give her the right story: that I'm clumsy, that he only hired me as an act of charity, some pastor of some church convinced him to because I was in the AA and needed a second chance to rebuild my life. I don't know why he didn't just say I accidentally fell, instead of making up a whole good Samaritan tale, but that's what it is and I gotta stick to it if I want to keep my job. Which I don't want to, but I must.
I know my parents would do somersaults to support me financially, but they can't afford it and I don't want to bother them. Besides, I know that even only trying to ask for help would raise the major argument they have been hassling me with: why don't you just come back home? Find a job here? Clearly the big city isn't your place. I love my parents, but they're very pragmatic, and after 28 years, it's still difficult for them to accept that they birthed an idealist for a daughter.
Well, truth is, the idealist has left her place to the pragmatist that can barely make ends meet, but it's still better than going back home, riding that glorious horse named Failure.
"Is everything alright?" Ben asked, staring straight into my eyes, which is so, so uncomfortable, I swear, I don't know why people still keep it up.
"Yes." I shouldered my bag, and went on walking towards our building. For some reason, Ben has started waiting for me at the bus stop near our condo. The first time we accidentally took the same bus, it was because he'd been running some errands, but then it happened again and again for various reasons, so in the end he realized that our schedules aren't that divergent, so he could make an effort and escort me home like a true gentleman. His words, not mine.
It's been two weeks since that time I "accidentally fell" at work, my back is fine, but you know, someone has realized that literally mistreating me â as opposed to verbally â not only is more efficient, but it also makes his day better. So yeah, I had a few bruises here and there. Not that Scott truly beats me or hits me, no, just ... pushing a little harder than normal, or accidentally making me trip; you know, the whole school bully portfolio.
I'll admit it's becoming increasingly difficult to hide the bruises. One, because they're multiplying; two, because he's becoming careless about where do these bruises appear; three, because Officer Ford has decided something's weird in that diner, so she's become a loyal customer; and finally four ... because I have a nosy neighbor that insists on knowing every detail of my day and my life and when I'm exhausted â which I am every day more because mobbing involves wearing out the employee you want to fire but can't â I don't really control what I say. In short, January wasn't my month, and February didn't start too excellently either. I'm gonna go out on a limp here and say March isn't gonna be a happy hour.
"Are you sure?" Ben asked as he caught up with me.
"Yes."
"We're not back to monosyllables, are we?" He wondered, pouty.
"No." I opened the building's door, and headed to the elevator.
"You sure?"
"Yes." When I replied that, Ben chuckled, and I could barely hide a faint smile, too. "I'm sorry, I'm just tired."
"You're always tired, maybe you need a vacation."
I let out a loud wry laugh. A vacation. Scott would skin me alive if I even dared mention the word. "I need a new life." I murmured, without thinking.
"That too."
I turned to Ben, embarrassed â my face turned red already, that goes without saying â but also surprised. Do you know that feeling when someone actually pays attention to you? Like, actually listens to what you're saying? Because I don't. Or, I didn't ... until Ben.
"I mean what I said," he went on as we stepped onto the elevator, "I don't think your highest ambition is to slave away in a diner."
Of course not, but beggars can't be choosers and dreamers can't afford reality. "It's what keeps me above water." I muttered, not much keen on discussing my private business with him. It's true that we talk more, but not enough for me to just spit out everything.
"But that's the thing," Ben went on, turning to me, "it doesn't have to be like that."
Said every rich kid ever. I mentally rolled my eyes. How easy do people make it sound. Find a job, find a boyfriend, get settled, have kids, have a life. Easier said than done. When you're like me, you don't have many choices, so you take whatever you can get. When you're mediocre, at best, you can't exactly aspire to grandeur. The biggest lie I've ever been told was: you can do anything. No, you can't. You can do anything if you have money to invest or beauty or charm to use as weapon, not if you're poor, ugly and lame as hell.
You think I haven't been to interviews? I have. But let's be honest here, this isn't The Devil Wears Prada or Ugly Betty, you don't get hired as a test of some sort then turn into the most perfect employee ever and they realized you're just too essential to let you go and they offer you your dream life on a silver plate.
In real life â my life â it usually goes like this:
1. I apply for a job concerning my area of expertise
2. Option A: I get denied because I'm not qualified enough
3. Option B: I get selected for an interview based on my academic path
4. Option A: I go to the interview and stun them with my absolute lack of charm and ability to speak fluently in my own language â result, application denied
5. Option B: I go to the interview, force myself to be normal â result, application denied on grounds of lack of above-mentioned charm (read beauty)
6. Option C: demoralized by the enormous string of failures, I don't even go to the interview
I guess I lied when I said I don't have choices. I do. It's just a mix of terribly choices born out of the terrible one: deciding to do things on my own instead of remain in my hometown, marry the first guy my ever so intriguing aunt introduces me to, have a thousand kids, be happy slaving away in the kitchen. In the end, is it even that different? I'm still slaving away in a kitchen, pushed around by a sad little man whose apical expectations on life have been nipped in the bud by and overlord mother that asphyxiated him by deciding every single detail of his life. Is that so different from life as a housewife?
Don't get me wrong, max respect for housewives. I'm talking about life as a housewife of a husband that has been chosen for me, and, believe me, my aunt's taste in men has only 2 colors: handsome and rich for her daughters; sad, lonely but averagely wealthy for me. Of course, she couldn't introduce and ugly duckling to a swan, could she? It's merely pragmatic.
"I mean it, JoJo." Ben said, his expression serious. "Don't you think you owe it to yourself? To be the best version you can possibly be?"
I sighed. Where have I heard that one before. "This is the best version of myself."
"Bullshit. This is nowhere near your max potential and you know it. You're just too lazy to do something about it."
"Lazy?" I scoffed, outraged, "lazy? I'm lazy?!" I nearly yelled as I got out of the elevator, sick and tired of his new age mantras about infinite possibilities. News flash, honey, this world only rewards the bold and beautiful, it doesn't give a rat's ass about the fat, sad and lonely. And you know what, it's even fair. Survival of the fittest and all that. I just accepted that I'm part of the latter category and there's nothing I can do about it. Might as well make this ride the least painful possible by enjoying the little things in my life, like my cats, my books and my food.
"Yes, lazy." Ben insisted, pissing me off. "You decided life is an unchanging, immobile monster you can't fathom to face, let alone defeat. Like a princess locked in a castle protected by a ferocious dragon, you're there waiting for the valorous champion to show up and save you."
"Now, wait a minute ..."
"Life doesn't give, JoJo." He stated solemnly. "It's up to you to take. Quoting my favorite author: Life is a storm, my young friend. You will bask in the sunlight one moment, be shattered on the rocks the next. What makes you a man is what you do when that storm comes. You must look into that storm and shout as you did in Rome. Do your worst, for I will do mine! Then the fates will know you as we know you."
I rolled my eyes, this time literally. "Dumas? Really? Aren't you being a little bit overdramatic?"
Ben laughed. "First of all, note to self: it takes books, to really make you speak. Secondly, kudos for knowing Dumas," in saying that, he tipped his imaginary hat, "and thirdly ... it's the truth, JoJo. You remember when Montecristo was trapped in that prison for life? Forgotten by all, including his fiancée? Did he give up?"
"That's different ..."
"How is it different?" He asked rhetorically. "How is it any different, when you're just as trapped in your own prison? Your mental prison." He flicked my head, which annoyed me immensely. "I'll repeat myself, JoJo: life doesn't give. Forget that nonsense about lemons and lemonades. Life doesn't give you shit, it's up to you, whether you want to just lie down and crawl your way to the end, or stand up proudly and be able to shout "I did it my way", as you so like to sing when you think no one can hear you."
Inspiring words, really. But nothing I've never heard before in movies and whatnot. "That's all very well, but how am I supposed to work on my future when I don't even have time to live my present?" I don't know why I said it out loud, and I know that my cheeks were as red as tomatoes, but the cat was out of the bag now.
"Simple," Ben shrugged, "you start by letting go of the past. Present and future will thank you for it."
"The past?"
He fainted a smile. "Let me guess: working class family, not able to afford much but not destitute either; shy and introvert child that finds comfort in her books decides that the world outside isn't worthy of her attention, but at the same time, her inner world is too little to be confined within, so she needs her own space â and that's where New York comes in. The city of possibilities. But no possibilities ever come your way, and if they do, they swerve and head to the opposite direction out of the blue."
Frighteningly accurate. Like I said, it's different when someone actually listens and pays attention to you, even when you don't notice.
"It's time to archive the past rejections and start working for future successes, JoJo. It'll sound cliché, but the only way to thrive, is to think positive."
He could be one of those overly paid life coaches, I swear. "And where should I start, oh Wise One?" I asked sardonically, gaining more confidence by the minute, if only just with this one weirdly sympathetic, kind, altruistic guy.
He grinned, I would have said mischievously. "From the very heart of everlasting clichés: a makeover.
Oh, no. Oh, no, no, no, no, no.
"Tomorrow we'll go shopping."